A rendezvous with Death
by Lady Domino
Summary: Alone in his study one night, Lord Voldemort receives an unexpected visitor. Christmas oneshot for Shaitanah.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. _

_A/N: Happy Christmas to my friend Shaitanah – this one's for you. Take the time to read it and destress, yeah? It's not very Christmassy, but I suck at short fics with parties/celebrations in. I know it's only Christmas Eve, but I seriously won't have time to upload it tomorrow, so Christmas came early this year… Ho ho ho  
__On that note…_

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A rendezvous with Death

The ticking of the grandfather clock gently stroked the silence in the study where the thin man sat, reading a book. His scarlet eyes roved over the cracked parchment of the pages, whilst slender, pianist's fingers clutched the leather binding. His meagre frame was perched in the centre of the comfortable armchair, barely denting the cushions. The darkness outside the one window seeped in and spread like velvet, settling in the corners of the room. Candles burned around the thin man, bathing him in a pool of soft light. They were thick candles, made of pale wax, and mounted on tall wooden candlesticks on which designs of writhing serpents chased their tails. Carefully the thin man turned a page, which crackled with age.

The grandfather clock shattered the silence by starting an insistent jingle:

_Ding Dong Ding Dong_

_Ding Dong Ding Dong_

This was followed by twelve clear chimes, which rang out in the stillness.

As the memory of the last note faded away, one of the large candles on the tall man's left flared and abruptly went out, as if blown by a gust. The man glanced up from the book and his crimson eyes narrowed. He carefully marked his place in the tome, closed it, then set it aside on the arm of the padded chair. He steepled his hands, with his elbows on his lap, and rested his chin on the fingertips, eyes sweeping the entire room. Finally he said softly, "I know you're here. I know." Silence answered him. He frowned. "You can't hide from _me_. I have lived too long to be deceived by anyone." Again his eyes scanned the room, and suddenly he stiffened and gasped, his composure lost in an instant.

"I see you now!" he cried. "You! But why are you here? Why _you_?" The emptiness of the room mocked his trembling voice. He wrung his hands, barely mastering the urge to tremble. "Not for me," he begged. "You have not come for me? No! Get back!" His voice rose higher, piercing the silence of the room, shattering the previous calm. "You are evil, evil, evil! We have danced too often together for you to turn on me now." Impassive silence was his only reply, as his ringing tones died away.

"I gave him to you," the thin man whispered, and beads of sweat slid down his chalk-white mask of a face. "I gave him to you, as payment. The old man. He defied you for so long but I gave him to you! He is yours now. Dumbledore is no more! And I have given you so many others. I have fulfilled my debt. Remember? Remember? I promised to serve you, to feed you, if in return you spared me. And I _have_ served you, and faithfully. I have filled lakes with my victims, all for you." His voice grew stronger, and his movements more controlled.

"And I have defeated you! For thirteen years, thirteen long years I resisted your call. For thirteen years I fought you. You have no claim over me!" The man stood up abruptly, knocking the book, which fell unheeded, thumping onto the floor. Now he was pacing, as his voice grew louder and stronger, gesticulating with his hands to his invisible audience. "I alone have stood against you when all others have fallen," he declared proudly. "All others will bow to you, will fall before you on their knees, but I alone shall stand high, immortal as the mountains." He paused, breathing rapidly, thin chest rising and falling sharply. "Your power is over people's minds," he hissed. "They all accept you as unstoppable, an inevitable force but _I know better!_ They do not even try to fight you, and they all fall before you, but _I see the truth!_ You can be fought! You can be resisted. You can be triumphed over. I have already done it, and I shall do it again, and again, and again."

He froze, and the little colour that had risen in his cheeks from his pacing drained away.

"Only one can master you. And that one is me! I, Lord Voldemort, have conquered Death!" He flung out his hand in a dismissive action. "Be gone, foul evil! There is nothing for you here. Nothing for you at all. Nothing." He plucked dispassionately at his thin, wasted arms. "People say I do not live, and thus can not die. But they are wrong; I am the only one who is truly alive. Life is contrast: power and weakness, black and white, alive and dead. To be or not to be!" He laughed harshly. "I _am_ and I _will be_. Because I am there when others fall. I am there when you come, and I send them into your dark embrace. I alone live because I see Death and laugh. Contrasts! They die and I live on."

He frowned.

"_Only one to master you_? Yes, I know that! Why do you repeat it with that terrible grin? Why do you smile, Death, when it is I who am the victor? There is no other who can conquer you, and no one who can destroy me." For the first time the empty room answered him, the words hissing out of the shadows around him.

'_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark lord approaches'_

Voldemort shook. He grasped the back of the chair to steady himself, his gaunt frame trembling. "No!" he screamed. Pleading or defiant? His tone was unclear. "No!" he repeated. "No, he is not strong enough. I shall win. I shall win. I shall defeat your champion, you monster, and send him whimpering back to you. I shall defeat this devil of yours and see the light die in those eyes! Clever, clever demon. He hides so well and wears such a pretty face. Did you think I would not see through it? His eyes burn with death, green as hell! I am not deceived. I alone see the truth and I shall smash him! I'll break him, you'll see. Into a thousand fragments, scattered on the floor, and I shall dance on them, and as each one shatters under my feet I will laugh and say 'I have won!'" His half cackle, half giggle rang around the room, mad and unrestrained, until it fell into a choked half sob.

"Why? Why did you send this devil after me? Have I not fed your monstrous appetite? Will _he_ be enough to satiate your relentless demandings?"

'_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark lord approaches'_

Again the words whispered around the room, emerging from the gloom so that they themselves appeared to be the shades of words, their echoes mocking the powerless lord. Voldemort straightened up and his voice was steady.

"And if he falls, which he will, then you will leave me forever. You will flee and never dare to show your face again. For he will have died, and I will have won."

No reply met his declaration, but instead the shadowy presence withdrew from the room, although Voldemort still shook as if the grin remained. The ticking of the grandfather clock soothed the room back to its former tranquillity as the Dark Lord straightened up and composed himself. Bathed in the warm candlelight, he reached down slowly for the discarded book. He settled himself back into the chair, drawing his knees up and resting the book on them. As he turned to the next page there was a soft rustle as the cold candle beside him crackled back into life, the flame shooting up and burning as before. It was as if Death's icy presence had never shown its face.

_

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There. And a Happy Christmas to everybody else out there. _


End file.
